The Floating Opera

Only Todd’s doctor knows about his heart condition. He doesn’t tell Harrison or Jane and didn’t tell his father when he was alive. Todd doesn’t see the point in sharing his medical condition, believing it serves his personal interests better to be mysterious: “I long ago learned that one’s illnesses are both pleasanter and more useful if one keeps their exact nature to himself: one’s friends, uncertain as to the cause of one’s queer behavior and strange sufferings, impute to one a mysteriousness often convenient” (54). Todd pays his rent and sets out for the day. While he walks, he eats three Maryland biscuits. Todd praises the biscuits—they are cheap and filling and taste the same whether new or stale. The biscuits make him thirsty, too, and motivate him to drink more water. They settle his stomach, stabilize it, a welcome feeling in an unstable world.

Todd admires the beauty of High Street. Most of the houses are plain, but the street itself, and the foliage, make it beautiful. Todd reflects on Cambridge’s history—the men who have come and gone, the plantations and mansions they built—and remarks that the rest of the town isn’t as beautiful as High Street. Todd continues his walk, coming to a creek.